The Paris Experiment
by Marianne Greenleaf
Summary: Even after rekindling the romance of Paris, there are still some avenues of passion Marian doesn't want to travel. But how can she say "no" to her husband - especially when she said "yes" before?
1. The Request

**A/N – I don't normally put forewords in my M-rated fics, preferring to let the rating speak for itself, but as this tale is a bit more heated than my usual fare, I wanted to give fair warning to the reader: This story contains references to acts of the sensual that, while legal between consenting adults, some might find controversial.**

XXX

_After some hesitation – she was just about to reach the most difficult part of what she wanted to say – Marian went on, "And what I discovered in Paris frightened me. I never realized just how far I was willing to go to assuage my passion, not just in public, but in private as well. In Paris, that wasn't an issue. But in River City, there are too many eyes watching a woman. Knowing that I couldn't love you the way I did in Paris, I tried to return to our staid but comfortable lovemaking. But – I don't want that, Harold." She swallowed nervously. "I know I've been doing a poor job of loving you since we returned home – "_

_Harold interrupted her. "Marian, you're doing the best you can," he said firmly. "I know that; I've always known that. Believe me when I say that I've felt like such an ingrate during the past few months, asking you for more than you were able to give."_

XXX

Although she had always harbored a rather romantic sensibility beneath her practical, no-nonsense exterior, Marian Paroo Hill would never have guessed that, after thirteen years of marriage, she would feel such a giddy thrill of excitement in the pit of her stomach whenever she saw her husband approaching. But here it was, a warm July evening in 1925, and the librarian felt those delightful butterflies unsettling her insides when, after locking the library doors and giving the handles her final, routine tug, she turned to see Harold waiting for her at the foot of the stairs and grinning at her as merrily as he ever did when they met again after a brief absence.

Even as besotted as she had been with him in the beginning, Marian would have expected that as the years passed, their passionate intensity would mellow into a staid but pleasant camaraderie. But when she greeted her husband with just as bright a smile, his arm stole around her waist and he gave her a squeeze that, although discreet enough not to capture the attention of passerby, left the librarian in no doubt as to his intentions. Indeed, as they made their way to the charming Victorian, Harold informed her that when Penny and Elly begged to spend the night at the home of one of their schoolgirl chums, he happily gave them his blessing – and then proceeded to make arrangements for Mrs. Paroo to look after Robert.

Marian's stomach fluttered even more when she heard this news. Living in a house with two boisterous daughters and an infant son did not often afford opportunities for unbridled romance. Although husband and wife contrived to make arrangements for the girls to be away one evening a week, it wasn't often they entrusted Robert to others, as Marian felt he was too young to be without his parents for more than a few hours.

However, unlike his sisters, Robert was a mild, easygoing baby who obligingly slept through the night, so Harold and Marian's passion rarely suffered too much interruption. Indeed, Robert was a dream compared to Penny and Elly. For one, Marian's second pregnancy was not as physically taxing as her first; despite experiencing the usual nausea and complaints of the condition, carrying one baby was far less onerous than carrying two. This pregnancy was also easier in other ways, as well; after so many years of being together, the librarian and the music professor were secure in each other's regard in a way they hadn't been in earlier times, when their relationship was newer and they were still learning about each other. And even though they were careful to exercise caution and moderation in their lovemaking, there were no miscommunications arising from either spouse's noble stifling of longing; husband and wife enjoyed a fully passionate relationship well into Marian's eighth month.

And, as Dr. Pyne surmised, the labor – although just as painful as it had been with the twins – was much shorter. Perhaps it helped that this time around, Harold was present for the birth. He had wanted to be in the room with Marian, and she had insisted on having him by her side. When both Mrs. Paroo and Dr. Pyne balked at this, the librarian staunchly informed them that, after the fiasco with the twins, she wasn't about to go through another horrible experience of being alone and in pain and not knowing were her husband was – that half hour they were searching for him had been one of the longest and most agonizing half hours of her life.

Being nearly forty and having gone through pregnancy before, Marian had a lot more clout with her mother and doctor than she did as an inexperienced twenty-seven year old, so she ultimately got her way. And when the time came for her to give birth, neither Dr. Pyne nor Mrs. Paroo was averse to Harold staying with his wife, as his presence had a helpful calming effect on the librarian. Also, being allowed "on the front lines" enabled the professor to monitor the situation to his satisfaction, which in turn made him less nervous and frantic about the whole affair. At any rate, it was better than having him "linger in the parlor, irritatingly underfoot," as Mrs. Paroo phrased it.

When word got out about this unorthodox arrangement, Marian steeled herself for the inevitable scandalized reactions of her peers. Indeed, the ladies of the Events Committee did have their opinions about the subject. Whereas Mrs. Shinn and Mrs. Squires asserted they wouldn't have wanted their husbands anywhere near them while they were in such undignified states, Ethel Washburn, Maud Dunlop – and surprisingly, Alma Hix – averred they would have welcomed such an arrangement (provided, of course, that their husbands could be sent away during the more-embarrassing phases of labor and childbirth). Mrs. Grubb, who never had any children, also fell in the latter camp; she found the idea of a husband lending comfort to his wife during such trying times romantic. However, although this matter provoked vigorous discussion, no one was terribly fazed by Marian's choice, and seemed to take it as a matter of course that the librarian and the music professor would do something like this. Apparently, after so many years, the townspeople were used to them engaging in the unusual and unexpected.

But, Marian reflected as she and Harold rounded the corner to East Pine and his grip around her waist tightened even more, they hadn't entirely lost their ability to shock. If the River City-ziens knew some of the things that had happened in Paris, for instance… things that still made her blush to recall.

Even now, Marian occasionally played the "blushing rose" card with her husband. Well aware of Harold's amorous nature, she had used it as a shield of sorts during the beginning of their marriage, when she was hesitant or nervous about engaging in lovemaking; she was initially worried Harold would overwhelm her with his carnal inclinations. Although he soon demonstrated just how gentle and careful he could be – she felt extremely blessed to have such a patient, loving husband who recognized her struggles and treated her with the utmost tenderness – it was still a challenging adjustment for her to transfer from a resisting to a yielding mindset. She eventually blossomed into a wife who made love to her husband as confidently and happily as he made love to her, but it had taken her several years to become truly comfortable with her desires. And even after they had enjoyed a renewal of their passion both in Paris and River City, there was still the rare occasion when Marian struggled to keep up with her amorous husband.

Now that she was fully recovered from childbirth, Harold had let himself go with her again, and she with him. However, during the past few weeks, he had begun to make subtle overtures she didn't particularly care for at all. While Marian wasn't pleased by this turn of events, she wasn't surprised – not after what happened in Paris. While they hadn't done anything as outrageous or immoral as inviting additional parties into their boudoir, they had made love in a way Marian could never have fathomed was possible. And to her amazement, she had enjoyed this expansion of their repertoire as much as Harold did. At least – she had enjoyed it up to a certain point. The prelude was alluring and intriguing enough to make her yearn for more, but when they actually engaged in the act, it was a lot less pleasurable than she had been anticipating. Certainly, it wasn't a type of lovemaking Marian wanted to repeat in the future – although Harold clearly got an erotic charge out of it. Fortunately, he never attempted to initiate another such tryst; their honeymoon trip came to a close soon after that evening and they returned home, where he never dared to ask her for too much of anything over the next several months.

However, since Harold had resumed intimacy with her after Robert's birth, he had been inching toward engaging in that act again. And even though this was something Marian didn't want to pursue, she wasn't sure how she should handle the situation. The librarian was more than capable of taking her husband down a peg or two when he required it, but this was a man she had never said "no" to – at least, not when it came to lovemaking. Even if Marian hadn't surrendered easily to the beguiling music professor's charms, she had still surrendered. And despite her initial hesitancy, she had eventually welcomed each new pleasure Harold introduced to her. Although their latest foray into the unusual proved a bit of a letdown, it hadn't been a complete disappointment; Harold was as gentle and attentive a lover as he ever was when they engaged in other kinds of lovemaking.

When Harold closed and locked their front door and took her in his arms, Marian put these thoughts out of her head. Perhaps he wouldn't make another attempt. Her husband was a perceptive man; surely he had recognized her reticence. Perhaps she was worrying for nothing…

Once Harold captured her mouth in an ardent kiss and gave her the skillful caresses that always made her melt, it was difficult to worry – or even think. Tonight he was firmly and unequivocally taking the lead; Marian was perfectly content to let him sweep her into his arms, carry her upstairs, remove her clothing and make furious, passionate love to her on their bed. They had a long night to look forward to, and she could always reciprocate later. For even after they had finished and lay spooning together, Harold was still hot for her, running his hands possessively over her curves and pressing urgently against her. Marian readily enjoyed and encouraged her husband's amorous attentions as his hands wandered from her breasts to her backside… until his fingers gently but shamelessly encroached upon an area he hadn't touched since Paris. Planning to ignore this silent inquiry just as she had the previous ones, the librarian reached into her own bag of tricks for a delightful diversion that would distract him from this path.

But before Marian could put her scheme into action, Harold leaned in and, with a soft whisper, asked her the same question he had that evening in Paris – the question she had been dreading for the last several weeks. Even more unsettling was the fact that the genuine, ardent desire in her husband's voice was underscored by his usual seductive confidence that she would give her assent. Clearly, he had not recognized her reticence at all – or he had taken it as a sly, flirtatious game.

Marian froze as the memories came rushing back – not just of that night in particular, but also the two nights that set the stage for it.


	2. A Hell of a Town

Because their train arrived to New York City a full day before they had to board the ocean liner to France, Harold and Marian were afforded the opportunity to do a little sightseeing. As the clever music professor informed his wife, he had built an extra day into their travel time to allow for delays and other unforeseen difficulties. Besides, he had always wanted to show her the city.

While Harold led the way through Manhattan's busy streets, Marian gazed at her surroundings in awe. Although she had read several evocative descriptions of the towering buildings and stunning architectural detail, she still hadn't been prepared for the impact on her senses; seeing such glory and grandeur moved her to tears.

When her husband gave her a kind smile and handed her his handkerchief, Marian laughed at her foolishness and dried her eyes. "Forgive me, darling – I must look like such a country bumpkin!"

"Never, my dear little librarian," he fondly averred. "New York never fails to take my breath away, either… and even if it didn't, your sense of delighted wonder is still charming."

If they hadn't been in the midst of a crowd, Marian would have kissed him. Apparently, Harold was struck by the same desire to retreat to a quieter, less-populated area – tightening his hold on her arm, he quickened his pace until they reached Central Park. Slowing down into a statelier promenade, husband and wife meandered through the park hand in hand, pausing every so often to steal kisses when the foliage thickened enough to afford them a little privacy. When their stomachs began to rumble with hunger, Harold quickly and efficiently procured lunch for them from a street vendor. After finishing their meal and brushing the crumbs from their fingers, they decided to head to the New York Public Library.

Once again, Marian felt her eyes welling up with tears as she beheld the magnificent building, built in the majestic "round-arch" style. The librarian contentedly whiled away the rest of the afternoon perusing the vast collections – and would have been happy to stay there until well into the evening, had her husband not already made other plans. Heading to their hotel – Harold had booked them a room in the grand Waldorf Hotel at Fifth Avenue and Thirty-Fourth Street – husband and wife exchanged their traveling clothes for their Sunday best as they prepared for a night on the town. After a delightful dinner at The Little Restaurant in the theater district, they saw _Runnin' Wild_ at the New Colonial Theatre on Broadway.

"The Charleston certainly is captivating, isn't it?" Marian said conversationally to her husband as they and the other excited patrons streamed out of the theater. "We should try dancing it again sometime – in a place with no lamps in the vicinity!"

"Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer the Shipoopi," Harold said with a wink.

Marian gave her husband a sideways glance and sly smile, and the two of them nestled a little bit closer as they walked along the streets.

At first, they were so wrapped up in each other that they didn't even notice the woman calling Harold's name – until she was right behind them and tapping on the music professor's shoulder.

Husband and wife turned to see a tall, willowy brunette with an arresting gaze beaming at them. Although she appeared to be in her late forties, she carried herself in as carefree and self-assured a manner as any woman in the first flush of youth and beauty. And she _was_ stunning – one of the most beautiful women the librarian had ever seen. Marian's smile froze, and she stiffened in her husband's arms. Despite her discomfort – which was mingled with an odd sense of déjà vu – it wasn't lost on her that Harold tensed up as well. Clearly, this lady was one of his former lovers.

If the woman was aware of the disquiet her brassy entrance had caused, she didn't show it. "Harold Hill!" she said ecstatically, sounding a bit out of breath – apparently, she had made quite the mad dash to catch up to them. "I _thought_ that was you coming out of the theater! It's me – Clara." Her eyes twinkled mischievously, and a seductive note entered her already-breathy voice as she chided, "Surely you must remember me – at least a little."

If the librarian had not been so well-practiced at maintaining her poise in the face of adversity, her jaw would have dropped open. This was the woman from Harold's old burlesque photographs, the woman whose flaunting pose and brazen note had caused Marian so much grief – no wonder she had looked so familiar!

Harold gave Clara a wide grin. "Why, of course I remember you!" he said, sounding as confidently at ease as he ever did. However, his eyes didn't quite shine with their usual merry glow and his body was still taut next to Marian's – he was distinctly uncomfortable. He hid it well, of course; Clara certainly couldn't tell, but Marian, who knew her husband better than any woman, was well aware of his true mood.

"Where have you been hiding yourself, honey?" she admonished. "It's been ages since I've seen you in the city – when were you here last?"

Harold paused. "I suppose it's been twenty years – at least," he said, sounding a bit awed himself.

Clara's eyes widened. "My goodness, has it really been that long? It seems like just yesterday you were strutting around the theater district with that million-dollar grin of yours and chatting up all us gals! We have so much to catch up on… " She trailed off as her gaze settled on Marian, and her smile broadened even more. "For starters, who is _this_ lovely creature? You simply must introduce us!"

Harold's arm tightened around the librarian's waist. "This is my wife, Marian," he said proudly. "We'll be celebrating our twelfth wedding anniversary this November and, in honor of such a momentous occasion, we've decided to go on a second honeymoon."

Marian braced herself for the inevitable jealous glare and frosty response. But to her shock, Clara looked positively thrilled by the news. "Well, congratulations! Now I know why you haven't been back to the city for so long! My goodness, you _are_ beautiful," she declared, gazing admiringly at the librarian. The seductive note entered her voice again as she added, "But then, Harold always did have exquisite taste in women… "

As Clara continued to prattle on, paying the librarian several compliments on her hair and clothing, Marian struggled to regain her bearings. Never had a woman who was so fond of her husband seemed just as delighted by her. Normally, when an admirer fawned over Harold, she completely ignored the librarian – or attempted to, anyway. To his credit, the music professor never allowed another female to overshadow his wife, and was always careful to include Marian in the conversation. But his assistance was not required in this instance; Clara chattered to the two of them as if they were both her long-lost companions. Despite her natural reserve, the librarian found herself warming to the woman – it was difficult to remain standoffish in the face of such sincere and infectious amiability. She wasn't at all what Marian would have expected; even with her flirtatiousness, Clara wasn't the cold, haughty seductress her picture portrayed. However, the librarian made sure not to get too friendly – she couldn't quite put her finger on it, but there was still something about the woman that unnerved her. If it wasn't for the steadying influence of her husband's arm, which seemed to wrap itself even more firmly around her waist as the conversation progressed, Marian would have been anxious that her husband was similarly affected by Clara's charms.

"I was just on my way to Sardi's for dinner – or as you out-of-towners call it, The Little Restaurant," Clara informed them, sticking out her tongue in a teasing manner. "Why don't the two of you join me? I want to hear all about how you met and married – the story must be wildly romantic!"

"We would, but we already ate before the show," Harold said apologetically. "And we ate at Sardi's, as a matter of fact!"

"Well then, how about dessert, darlings – my treat," Clara offered, regarding them with that alluring, heavy-lidded gaze of hers. Marian felt her cheeks crimson as she remembered that provocative photo.

"If it weren't for the fact that our ship leaves early tomorrow morning, we'd gladly take you up on that offer," Harold replied politely but inexorably. "But as it's getting quite late, we really need to turn in for the evening."

Clara blinked. "Oh," she said, sounding a bit surprised. But she soon recovered, and gave them a devil-may-care grin. "Well, it was lovely to see you both, anyway. Stop by the theater district next time you're in town – I'll be around. Ta ta, darlings!" Leaning in, she kissed them both on the cheek – first Harold, then Marian – and then, rushing to catch up to a few passerby who had hailed her upon their approach, she continued on her way without a backward glance.

Still reeling from the woman's audacious effusiveness, all Marian could do was stare after her in befuddlement. Fortunately, her husband seemed to have retained his mental faculties; with his usual grace and composure, Harold steered his wife in the opposite direction and hailed them a taxi.

"I know it's only about a fifteen-minute walk back to the Waldorf," he said as he helped Marian into the cab, "but after all the walking we've done today, even a block seems as bad as a mile."

The librarian gave him a wan smile; suddenly, she felt utterly exhausted. "It is a relief to get off one's feet," she confessed.

Putting his arm around her, Harold drew Marian closer. At first, she balked and cast an alarmed glance at the taxi driver. But the man continued to gaze serenely at the road ahead, clearly more interested in reaching his destination than monitoring the propriety of his passengers. Relieved at the reminder that not everybody was as easily scandalized as the River City-ziens, the librarian nestled against her husband and laid her head upon his shoulder.

But she didn't close her eyes. She couldn't – Harold was still too tense for her liking. Her weariness vanishing, Marian began to mull over their chance meeting. She and her husband had never talked about Clara in depth, and Marian hadn't thought of her in several years. Meeting her _was_ a bit unsettling, but Clara's affability took a lot of the sting out of her vivacious charm and brazen manners; it wasn't hard to understand why Harold had found her attractive. This was the first time the librarian had ever met one of her husband's former lovers, and the experience wasn't as devastating as she would have expected. But then, she wasn't the same woman she was when she had found those photographs; twelve years of experiencing her husband's loving fidelity had done a lot to assuage her silly insecurities.

Suddenly, Marian was struck by the desire to ask Harold questions about his romantic past – not out of perverse curiosity, but a genuine longing to learn even more about the man she loved. But how could she possibly broach such a sensitive subject? And was it really a wise idea? Even after twelve years, some books were still best left on the shelf. Firmly resolved to say nothing at all, the librarian brushed her cheek against her husband's shoulder in an affectionate caress and, gratified to feel him relax a little, closed her eyes.

All too soon, Marian was jolted awake when the taxi came to a halt in front of the Waldorf. Instead of offering to escort her in his usual genteel manner, Harold wrapped his arm around her waist as they made their way to their room. Just as happy to disregard propriety, the librarian uttered no protest.

But the moment they were safely ensconced in their hotel room, Harold moved away and, after removing his suit-coat and fedora and draping them over a chair, regarded her with hesitant eyes. Before Marian could assure her husband that she wasn't upset, he started to speak.

"I suppose I should tell you a little more about Clara," he said, with the air of a man tackling a grim but necessary chore. "As you can probably guess, she's an actress – and a burlesque dancer. I met her around the same time as I met Marcellus. However, unlike Marcellus, she never knew the true nature of my work – she thought I was just a run-of-the-mill traveling salesman looking for a good time."

To Marian's surprise, she felt a wry sense of amusement more than anything else, and archly observed, "Well, she certainly seemed more than capable of providing one."

Her husband goggled at her, and Marian felt herself blush at his intensely scrutinizing gaze. "Harold, I was only teasing," she said lamely. "I'm not angry at you in the slightest, and I understand why you liked her. She was a very friendly woman – "

His expression darkened, and he turned away from her. "Yes… you two certainly seemed to take a shine to each other," he muttered.

For a moment, Marian stood there, at a loss. If she didn't know better, she would have said Harold was jealous. But why in heaven's name should he feel that way? As absurd as the idea was, it made her bristle. If anything, she should be the jealous party; this was _his_ former lover, after all.

But after such a lovely day, the last thing Marian wanted to do was pick a fight. Swallowing her sense of pique, she approached her husband and gently put her hands on his shoulders. "Darling, please talk to me."

Harold turned to look at her, and she was surprised to see anguish mingled with affection in his expression. "Oh, my dear little innocent librarian," he said apologetically. "Do you know why Clara was so friendly to you, and not standoffish? She _wanted_ you, Marian – she wanted us both. Clara always did fancy women just as much as she fancied men."

Now it was Marian's turn to goggle at him. "You _were_ jealous," she stammered, hardly able to comprehend such an idea. The crimson in her cheeks deepened, and she felt like a complete fool. Here she'd been proudly promenading around New York City, feeling like the most daring and sensual woman in the world after having seduced her husband on a train – and she was nothing but a quaint ingénue when it came to lovemaking. Although Marian had felt the dangerous undercurrent of allure during their encounter with Clara, she would never have attributed it to such an attraction. Yet when she reviewed their conversation, it became glaringly obvious that Harold was correct; Clara would have happily trysted with them both. How terribly naïve she had been!

Harold took her hands in his. "I was jealous," he admitted. "I felt just the same as when men have tried to get too close to you. It was ridiculous of me, I know. But I don't like the idea of anyone making eyes at you – man or woman."

Although Marian's embarrassment didn't fade entirely, her spirits were amply bolstered by her husband's indignation on her behalf. He viewed Clara with as much suspicion and displeasure as he would any male rival – no wonder he had held her so tightly! And then she had to go and inadvertently hurt him with her careless remark…

"Oh, Harold," she sighed, giving his hands a sympathetic squeeze, "I don't like the idea of anyone looking at you that way, either. I know your past experiences made you who you are, and if you hadn't been that man, we wouldn't have met. I wouldn't change you for anything, no matter how many women you've been with." Gazing steadily into her husband's eyes, Marian reached up and began to undo his tie. "But now that I have you, I feel just as possessive of you as you do of me. I want you all to myself, Harold – I always have."

Unfastening his collar, Marian leaned in to bestow soft kisses on the hollow of his throat. As her hands worked their way down his shirt, Harold wrapped his arms around her and murmured into her blonde curls, "I _am_ yours, Marian. I'm yours entirely. From the moment you came into my life, there could never be any woman for me but you. I love knowing exactly where and how to kiss you… and I love that you know exactly where and how to kiss me in return."

Her confidence restored, the librarian smiled as her fingers found their way to the last of his shirt buttons. Even if she was inexperienced compared to Clara, she remained more familiar with Harold than any other woman was – or ever would be. "I love how _you_ always know just what to say," Marian replied in a throaty voice, capturing her husband's mouth in a heated kiss as she reached down to unbuckle his belt.

XXX

Even though it was late and she was exhausted, Marian still couldn't sleep. Getting out of bed carefully, so as not to wake her slumbering husband, she walked to the window and gazed out at the city that never slept. The librarian was accustomed to the nights being dark and quiet; with all the lights and bustling activity outside, she'd never be able to get any rest. Although their room was high up and afforded an excellent view of the streets below, she missed the openness of the plains – being hemmed in by so many buildings was starting to make her feel a bit claustrophobic. And even though they'd only been gone for two days, Marian missed her family and friends already…

In the midst of her musings, the librarian felt a pair of arms encircle her waist – apparently, her husband wasn't as asleep as she thought.

"Harold," she ventured, finally giving voice to something that had been piquing her curiosity for the past few hours, "when you said that Clara wanted us, did you mean one at a time… or together… or something else entirely?"

"Anything you could think of, she'd be up for," Harold said matter-of-factly. "And the more unusual your ideas, the better. She was just as shameless and wild in her appetites as I was in mine. But after I had that close shave in Appalachia, I lost my taste for a lot of things. Even though I kept on doing what I was doing, I was a lot more careful after that – both with my schemes and the women I met. I wasn't the only one who changed – Marcellus lost his taste for the business entirely, and went back home to Brooklyn to do some thinking. The two of us didn't meet again until I arrived to River City several years later and came across him brushing a horse in Jacey Squires' livery stable."

"A fortuitous occurrence!" Marian marveled.

He smiled. "Yes… in more ways than one. Twelve years later, the conman's way of life is just as foreign to me as it is to you. I'm a family man, through and through: I love you, and I love our daughters, and I can't imagine being anywhere but where I am now."

The librarian nestled into her husband's warm embrace. "As much as I've enjoyed the city, I'm glad our ship leaves tomorrow – I'd hate to spend the rest of our trip waiting on pins and needles for another old flame to come out of the woodwork!"

"Well… just to be safe, we won't be leaving our hotel until the last possible second tomorrow," Harold said, only half teasingly. "And when we board our ship, we'll only be leaving our cabin for meals."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Is that so, Professor Hill? I've heard those cabins aren't all that spacious – in such close confinement, we'll soon be at each other's throats!"

With a grin, he leaned in and nibbled at her neck. "You don't know how much I hope that's the case, Madam Librarian… "

"Well, I suppose when you put it like that… " Marian acquiesced, her sighs turning into full-fledged moans when her husband's lips pressed against a particularly sensitive spot.

Without pausing in his ministrations, Harold guided her back to bed. Although it was well after midnight and the boat to France was due to depart at seven o'clock sharp, it was quite some time before husband and wife went to sleep.


	3. City of Love

The second incident happened three nights after Harold and Marian had arrived to Paris. They had just finished a delectable dinner and were headed back to their hotel for the evening. Throughout the meal, their conversation had been up to its usual sparkling state; and this continued as they meandered along Paris's narrow avenues.

As the two of them engaged in the verbal tangoing they loved so much, Marian was suddenly struck by the recollection of something from long ago, and beamed warmly at her husband.

As ever, Harold immediately noticed. "What is it, darling?" he asked, giving her a Cheshire-cat grin in return.

"Papa told me never to marry a man with whom I could not have a good conversation," the librarian said fondly. "And I was just thinking – here we've had twelve years of good conversations. He would be so proud of me – and _you_, Harold."

Harold raised an eyebrow at his wife. "Do you really think he would have approved of me?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

"Well, perhaps not at first," Marian conceded. Her father was never easily swayed by charm, and she felt certain that, like her, he would have had Harold Hill's number from the start. "But when you brought Winthrop out of his shell – "

"Something that might not have been necessary, had your father lived," Harold interjected with a wistful smile.

Marian shrugged. "Perhaps not. But Winthrop was always self conscious about his lisp, which grew more pronounced as he got older. Even Papa couldn't always get through to his son, who seemed to grow more taciturn and withdrawn every day. My brother still might have needed something extra to overcome his shyness. You would have provided it, and that would have pleased Papa as well as me – you would have had two staunch allies from then on."

In response, Harold gave his wife an affectionate look and lightly squeezed her hand. The remainder of their walk back to the hotel was pleasantly silent. Even when the door to their room had closed behind them, neither husband nor wife spoke. While Marian removed her shawl and draped it carefully over the back of the sofa so it wouldn't wrinkle, Harold went over to deposit his hat and suit-coat on the chair by their bed. Smiling at her husband as he sat down to untie his shoes, Marian turned toward the vanity and began to brush her blonde curls.

It wasn't long before Harold came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Although his approach wasn't a surprise – she had been watching him in the mirror as he removed his tie and loosened his collar – Marian barely had time to react before he spun her around to face him. And then his mouth was on hers and he was kissing her, hard and deep. As if his intentions weren't clear enough, he grasped her backside and pulled her closer, making Marian's heart beat even more wildly when she felt the intensity of his arousal as he pressed insistently against her. He had engaged in none of the usual flirtation or light kisses or playful caresses that signaled their prelude to lovemaking; this was Harold at his most spontaneous and passionate, loving her freely and with no restraint.

And Marian found this utterly intoxicating. Almost before she knew it, Harold had undone her blouse and girdle; as he eagerly traced the contours of her breasts with his mouth, she wrapped her leg around his waist and twined her fingers in his curls. At this brazen assent, his hand immediately slipped beneath the hem of her dress, and he started to unclasp her garters. As his feverish but gentle touch made her arch against him even more, the vanity shook, and several toiletries were scattered about. Harold didn't even pause; tightening his grip around his wife, he whisked her to a sturdier, more obliging support – a blank patch of wall. Marian, who had been laughing breathlessly at her husband's amorous eagerness, happily quieted when his lips captured hers in a heated, possessive kiss. While his skillful hands resumed unbuckling her garters and rolling down her stockings, her hands were also busy, undoing his belt and trousers with the same immoderate haste. He shuddered and groaned when her fingers closed around his erection; as she guided him into her with a smoothness and confidence she had never before displayed, his lips parted from hers and he gazed at her in delighted wonder.

Marian held his gaze, and time seemed to stretch into a vast, endless universe as they contemplated this new situation. While they were not physically naked – indeed, they had only removed as much of their clothing as was strictly necessary to do the deed – there had never been this sense of complete bareness, ease and equality between them. This realization happening in a mere matter of milliseconds, husband and wife resumed ravishing each other with wild abandon. Harold dipped his head until his mouth found Marian's neck, giving her love-bite after love-bite as he ground his hips against hers in such a frenzied bout of lovemaking that she would have sank to the ground in sheer bliss, had her back not been pressed so firmly against an unyielding surface. Demonstrating the same ardent tenacity, Marian matched her husband's frantic tempo thrust for thrust, her fingers raking through his tangled hair and her nails scoring his shoulders and back as she grabbed and grasped and held him to her. Soon they were both crying out with pain as well as pleasure, but neither of them stopped until Harold tensed and thrust into her one last time before sagging against her, utterly spent.

As husband and wife stood frozen, enjoying the stillness and silence of each other, Marian gradually reawakened to the world around them: the eternal ticking of the clock on the nearby wall, the steady drip-drip-drip of the faucet in the washroom, the rumbling of motorcars over the pavement on the streets outside, and all the other little ambient noises of a hotel room in a city bursting with life. Lost in the comforting sensation of being entwined in her husband's embrace, his breath warm against her ear and neck, it took a lot longer for Marian to become conscious of just how hard the wall was against her back. But as soon as she did, she squirmed in Harold's arms. Taking the hint, he straightened into a full standing position. As Marian did the same, wincing at the soreness of her back and hips and the throbbing of her neck – she surmised with a good-natured sigh that she was going to have to wear high collars and scarves for the next few days when they went out in public – Harold kept a steadying hand on her waist, even though it was clear from his swaying stance that he wasn't all that secure on his own two feet.

When their eyes met, Harold looked stunned and anxious, as if he couldn't believe what he had done and was terrified he had gotten carried away. As he took in her tousled hair, disheveled clothes and bow-marked neck, the penitence and uncertainty in his expression deepened, and he gazed at her in silent apology.

Finding her husband's awkwardness wholly endearing, Marian giggled. "Well, I must look a sight!"

Her playful remark put Harold at ease. "Indeed, you do," he confirmed with a grin. Leaning in to nibble gently at her ear, he said in his low, velvety voice, "A delectable sight, that is… you know, I've always wanted to do that."

"Do what?" Marian teased.

Harold's arms tightened around her waist. "Such a short memory," he lamented, his eyes twinkling impishly. "Perhaps I ought to give you another demonstration… "

Thoroughly convinced his words were largely bravado – the scratches on his shoulders, unsteadiness of his gait and raggedness of his breathing demonstrated he was just as exhausted as she was – Marian egged him on with a small, challenging smile. And her suspicions proved correct; even though Harold backed her against the wall again, he employed only as much pressure as he needed to make his point, and the kisses he gave her were incredibly gentle.

"Now do you remember, my dear little librarian?" he breathed as he bathed her forehead, cheeks and nose with the same tender affection as he had her lips.

"Mmm," she confirmed with closed eyes and a languid smile. "But without constant reminding, I might just forget again… "

"Then I shall have to be vigilant," Harold agreed, nuzzling the hollow of her throat.

"You shall," Marian told him, her tone so straightforward and unapologetic that he halted in his ministrations and glanced up at her. "And," she continued slyly, without a trace of her usual blush, "if there's anything else you'd like me to _remember_, Professor Hill, you must be sure to let me know."

Looking as thrilled as if Christmas had come early, Harold tugged her toward their bed. "Well, as a matter of fact, Madam Librarian, there are a few things I can think of that need going over, offhand… "

As he jogged her memory, Marian's delighted laughter soon turned to heated moans, which moved her to remind her husband of a few things, herself.


	4. The Refusal

Even with all the progress she'd made over the course of twelve years, Marian felt that Harold would always outpace her when it came to lovemaking. But after that heated evening in Paris, the music professor and the librarian became true equals for the first time in their marriage. Now that Marian had finally caught up to her charming husband, they explored passion's avenues side by side, instead of him taking her by the hand and leading her along. Certainly, there were times when Harold was still soft and sweet and gentle with her – not because he was concerned he'd overwhelm her, but because he truly wanted to make love to her that way.

And the fact still remained that Harold would always have more experience in this arena than she could ever hope to attain. But instead of fearing her husband's knowledge, Marian embraced it. Although their lovemaking didn't change drastically – they continued to express their passion in the same honest and unpretentious manner as they always had – the tenor of their trysts was noticeably different. For one, the librarian never blushed afterward, not even during the increasing amount of occasions when she boldly took the lead. Due to Harold's encouragement, Marian had long ago gotten into the habit of telling her husband what she wanted, but she had only ever done so in veiled hints, soft whispers or wordless gestures. Now she frankly and unapologetically expressed her desires – and because the librarian was far away from the watchful eyes of River City's gossips, she felt free to explore and to experiment without fear of censure or disapproval.

In return, Harold gave free rein to his own carnal inclinations, and no longer hesitated to tell her what he wanted. And to Marian's surprise and delight, she did not find her husband's appetites unusual or off-putting, nor did they overwhelm her. Even though Harold no longer masked the full extent of his desire, he demonstrated the same care and concern for her enjoyment; Marian knew her charming husband took as much pride in being a skillful lover as he had when he was a conman. And while Harold was not at all averse to trying new things, the foundation that underscored his longing remained unchanged; all he wanted was to love her, and for her to love him. And Marian wanted the same. Only now, she was a bit more adventurous and broadminded about what loving him could mean.

Still, the librarian would later wonder if meeting Clara was part of what motivated her to say yes when, after a long afternoon of lovemaking, Harold asked her to engage in an act that, even in her modern flapper mindset, she had neither dreamed of nor desired. Yet his request did not repulse her – in the nights past, he had tentatively started to caress her in places he'd never touched, and the sensations his skillful fingers aroused were intriguing. So Marian not only gave her husband leeway to do as he would, she unabashedly urged him on, looking forward to yet another delightful expansion of their repertoire.

But to her disappointment, she had finally discovered a threshold she didn't want to cross – and even then, she didn't fully realize this until after the deed was done. As her husband slumbered contentedly, she spent the night tossing and turning, trying to ignore the resulting discomfort which, although minor in comparison to other ailments she had suffered in her life, was still irritating enough to keep her awake. Fortunately, by the time the sun began to rise, the librarian was feeling nearly normal again, and joined her husband in a sound sleep. When Marian awoke a few hours later, Harold was still asleep, so she took the opportunity to adjourn to the washroom for a warm bath. In the course of these morning ablutions, she was relieved to note there was no permanent damage – although she continued to feel exhausted and out of sorts. Catching sight of her wan face in the full-length mirror as she soaked in the tub, the librarian sighed. Although Harold had been gentle, it was clear that she was not made to be loved this way.

Even though the water was starting to grow tepid, Marian lingered in the tub for awhile, pondering her predicament. Her husband had clearly enjoyed himself last night, and would probably look forward to engaging in such lovemaking again. Although she was older, wiser and had a surer footing with him, she had never declined any of his advances before. And after having said yes, it would difficult for Marian to refuse him this in the future. She sighed again; if they hadn't had the misfortune to run into Clara in the first place, none of this would have happened. Apparently, she still foolishly feared her husband would lose interest if she didn't indulge his wilder appetites, which fueled her determination to show him she could be just as exciting in the bedroom as any of his former flames. But she should never have allowed Harold to take such liberties in the first place!

Her lethargy vanishing in a burst of frustration, Marian stood up and toweled herself off. She'd had quite enough of hiding in the washroom like a naughty child. When introducing her to new expressions of passion, Harold had always assured her she could change her mind at any time – all she had to do was take him up on that offer. So if her husband asked her again, she would simply refuse. Then she would see how truthful his assurances really were!

Her eyes blazing with haughty determination, Marian returned to their bed. As she slid beneath the covers, Harold stirred and his eyes opened a little; he looked as exhausted as she felt. When her husband's gaze cleared and settled upon her, he gave her _that_ look – the intense look of mingled protectiveness, affection and desire that he only ever gave to her and that still made her heart melt, even after all these years. When he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, Marian welcomed his warm embrace without protest.

"Have I told you how much I love you, my dear little librarian?" Harold asked fondly, his voice still heavy with sleep. Planting a soft kiss on her lips, he buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply. "Mmm, you smell delicious."

She smiled. "I was just in the bath."

Harold tightened his arms around her. "I _thought_ the bed seemed a bit empty these past few hours," he mused, still sounding as if he hadn't fully woken up. "I can never sleep properly when you're not next to me… please stay with me awhile, darling," he entreated, his voice endearingly plaintive.

And then Harold was snoring again. As he slept, Marian held him close and caressed his disheveled curls, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Although the librarian was quick to offer a witty and well-timed admonishment when her husband's head got a bit too swollen for his own good, this was one subject that was too sacred for scolding or cutting remarks. And perhaps she was being too hasty in her decisions – perhaps her body would learn to accommodate such lovemaking in time…

Putting the matter out of her head for now, Marian drifted off to sleep as well. Several hours later, she was awakened by ardent caresses and kisses, and her husband wistfully whispering into her ear, "Only three more days in Paris, darling – we'd better not waste a moment… "

Although Marian made love to him as unblushingly as she ever had – it wasn't until they arrived home and settled back into their busy schedules that she reassumed her former modesty – she nervously waited for the subject to come up once more. Thankfully, Harold never asked her that question again while they were in Paris – and he certainly never dared to attempt engaging in such lovemaking once they returned to River City. Being preoccupied with her many responsibilities as wife, mother and librarian – not to mention planning for the arrival of another little one – Marian had all but forgotten about that night. It was just too bad Harold hadn't forgotten about it, as well; she hated to have to disappoint him like this. Marshalling her formidable will, the librarian turned to face her husband.

"Well, darling?" Harold asked with a seductive smile, his hands not even waiting for permission to begin exploring her.

Marian couldn't help the moan that escaped her, nor repress the yearning she felt for him to continue his caresses; her husband made these intimate advances with the same potent combination of confidence and tenderness that left her weak in the knees and wanting more. Harold always knew how to get a woman to meet him halfway; even females far less bold and wild than Clara would have welcomed such audacious overtures. The librarian's will to resist crumbled, and she was just about to let her husband proceed – until another memory pierced the haze of desire clouding her rational mind.

For a moment, Marian was twenty-six again, and she and Harold were standing in her mother's front yard on a sweltering evening in late July. He was softly whistling _Gary, Indiana_ to her, his warm, sweet breath tantalizingly tickling her lips as he leaned in to claim the kiss they had both been desperate for ever since the afternoon they shared strawberry phosphates together. But it wasn't the right moment to yield to him, and she had known this; despite wanting to feel his mouth on hers more than she had ever wanted anything in her life, the librarian somehow found the strength to duck the music professor's embrace and move away. Although Marian had later surrendered to Harold at the footbridge, she did so because she knew he truly loved her – and part of the reason he loved her was because she hadn't simply capitulated to his charms, like every other woman he had ever known. And if she could resist Harold then, she could certainly resist him now; even though his skillful ministrations made her sigh with pleasure, Marian knew that if she allowed passion to overwhelm sense, she would regret it later. Refusing advances she did not genuinely desire was not an act of unkindness or frigidity, but another way of loving Harold as an equal. With that in mind, it was surprisingly easy for Marian to look her husband steadily in the eyes and say:

"No, Harold."

Harold's smile and fingers froze briefly – but only for a moment. "Tomorrow, then?" he slyly suggested, giving her another persuasive caress or two.

Irritated but not surprised by such persistence, Marian removed her husband's hands from her backside. "No, not ever," she said, firmly and unequivocally.


	5. D'accord

"Not ever?" Harold repeated as his sense of desire and anticipation transformed into a discomfiting blend of surprise and hurt. Confused by his wife's sudden, mercurial mood shift, he regarded her with a pensive, questioning expression. As the librarian coolly eyed him in return, looking as haughty and unapproachable as she had the night they first met, his sense of pique increased, and he asked in a somewhat bitter voice, "Do you mind telling me what brought that on?"

Marian bristled. "I should have known you'd have something to say!" she accused, her expression both furious and upset. Before Harold could reply, she rose from their bed and retrieved a dressing gown from the armoire. It wasn't one of her alluring Paris robes, either – just the workaday garment of plain white cotton she always wore on evenings when the children were at home.

Desperate to prevent things from getting any worse than they already were, Harold leapt out of bed and, not even bothering to find his own robe, hastened over to his wife and put his hands on her shoulders. "Marian, please tell me what's the matter," he entreated in a kinder tone.

There was a brief pause before the librarian answered in a controlled but angry voice, "You can never let things go, can you? You always have to keep pressing your advantage until you've won – even if your victory comes at others' expense!"

"What are you talking about?" Harold burst, his frustration getting the better of him again. "All I know is that one minute you're enjoying yourself, and the next, you're shutting me down!"

"I don't want to make love that way," she replied, sounding as if she was speaking through gritted teeth.

"Well, I know that now," Harold heartily assured her. Pausing for a moment, he ventured in as neutral and non-accusing a tone as he could muster, "But can't a fellow ask why without getting his head bitten off?"

Marian whirled around to face him, and he was stunned to see tears in her eyes. "I don't want to make love that way, Harold!" she exclaimed, as if admitting to some terrible sin. "Why can't you accept that? Why do you always have to press your advantage?"

Once again, the music professor was bewildered by his wife's vehemence. "I wasn't aware I was pressing my advantage," he said sullenly but honestly, his hands falling from her shoulders.

"I have always gone along with whatever you wanted," Marian said tearfully. "Even when I was nervous and wondered if certain acts were decent or even desirable, I allowed you to make love to me in ways I had never imagined. I trusted you – you always told me I could change my mind at any time. But I never had to do so – everything you showed me up until that night in Paris was wonderful." She turned away from him again, and her voice was so low he had to strain to hear her as she continued, "But _that_ ended up being far more painful than pleasing. I was so uncomfortable and out of sorts that I couldn't fall asleep for hours. And the aftereffects I experienced during the next few days following were _vile_… " She trailed off and shuddered.

Harold's heart flip-flopped unpleasantly. "Marian – why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his voice soft and sad.

She didn't reply.

Left at a loss for words, Harold retrieved his robe from a nearby chair and considered the situation. The last thing he'd wanted was for their lovemaking to become a source of discomfort or dread for Marian. Even when he was a conman, the music professor had always wanted the woman he was interested in to come to him as willingly as he pursued her. Although he prided himself on never employing outright force or harsh coercion, he hadn't been averse to using guile or charm to attain what he wanted. Certainly, Harold was much more considerate of Marian's needs than he had ever been of those of his former lovers, but there were still occasions he'd sweet-talked his wife when he knew she wasn't initially enthusiastic about what he had in mind. Or as Harold preferred to think, he "proceeded with caution" – if he left things entirely up to Marian, she wouldn't have dared to venture too far afield from the missionary position, and someone had to take the lead!

Yet he couldn't deny the "salesman" aspect was still there, even if he had always managed to charm the librarian into becoming a willing participant in their wilder romps. Until now, Harold hadn't let this bother him too much; it _was_ seduction, but not entirely for selfish motives. For he knew that even after twelve years, Marian preferred he do the seducing – submitting to her husband in this manner eased her Victorian conscience by giving her a reason to indulge her passion other than sating her own desire. She couldn't help it if the man she had chosen to marry was adventurous in the bedroom and always up for trying new things; he would have grown bored with their lovemaking if it had stayed the same. And the librarian would have longed for variety as well – even if her upbringing didn't allow her to admit such things. Beneath Marian's prim exterior was a passionate, adventurous woman, and Harold knew how to bring that out in her. Paris was no exception, even if she had changed the dynamic a little and established a more-even playing field between them. Getting away from River City for awhile had given Marian the opportunity to abandon her self-imposed restraint when it came to loving him; the librarian delighted Harold at every turn with her newfound boldness, which surpassed even his wildest expectations.

However, the music professor still managed to surprise his wife's sensibilities with a few of the long-held fantasies he'd always wanted to explore with her. Toward the end of their trip, Harold decided to try something unusual, even for his tastes; "entering the back door" was something he had done only a handful of times before meeting and marrying Marian. However, despite his inexperience he was no stranger to it; he had engaged in the act with a few of his former lovers (Clara being one of them) and during one or two of his cons when he stumbled across the rare female with a penchant for that sort of thing. As this kind of lovemaking was completely outside of his wife's ken, Harold proceeded slowly, following the same careful guidelines as he had during their first honeymoon: First he lightly stroked the area with his fingers, a seeming afterthought to his caresses of other, more familiar avenues. When Marian liked it, he noted it. The next night, he explored a little further. When she still liked it, he noted it. On the third night Harold finally whispered the question into Marian's ear, along with his sincere assurance that the decision was entirely up to her. When his wife said yes – although she hadn't drank as much as she had other nights, he now wondered how much of her consent was due to being in a haze of wine-fueled passion – Harold proceeded with caution, doing his utmost to make sure she was enjoying herself just as much as he was.

It was Harold's first outright seduction since the early days of their marriage. Although he began to have misgivings when he heard pain mingled with pleasure in his wife's gasps, Marian assured him she was fine when he paused – he always tried to give her an out, no matter what – and asked if she wanted him to continue. Taking her statement at face value – and being in the midst of a wine-fueled frenzy of desire, himself – Harold did just that.

But even after all the care and concern he demonstrated for her enjoyment and well being, he had still failed her. As Marian was never averse to taking him down a peg when she thought he needed it, Harold was confident – especially after their reconciliation last September – that she had finally worked up the gumption to be just as straightforward in the bedroom as she was everywhere else. And for the most part, she had been refreshingly honest regarding her desires. But he had made a glaring miscalculation of what she was prepared to endure, for love of him. It wasn't enough to simply offer the opportunity to decline; Harold was going to have to be a bit more diligent in his investigations to ensure this never happened again. But first, he had to find out the extent of the damage done, before he could properly make amends.

"Marian," the music professor began contritely, retreating a few steps back and sitting on the edge of their bed in the hopes that putting a little distance between them would set her at ease, "I apologize for pressing my advantage like that. You're right – I should have let it go. Unfortunately, it's not my nature to simply give in without a fuss – I am, as you always tell me, the consummate salesman. Which is why I need to know" – his voice started to shake, despite his efforts to keep it steady – "if there's anything else… anything I've ever done or asked of you… that you regret giving your consent… " When his wife turned to look at him with wide eyes, he tried to smile at her as if there was nothing she could say that he couldn't take. She had done enough of trying to protect his feelings; he wanted the truth.

But as ever, Marian wasn't fooled. Gazing at Harold with penitent sympathy, she came over to where he was sitting and straddled his lap. Wrapping her arms around his neck and looking him in the eyes, she said in a soft, soothing voice, "I don't regret anything we've ever done, Harold – not even that night in Paris."

"But – I hurt you," Harold stammered as an alarming upswell of emotion began to make speech difficult for him. "I should have realized – and stopped… "

Marian shook her head. "I would have asked you to stop, had it been so awful," she said earnestly. "While it was a bit more uncomfortable than I was expecting, there had been enough pleasure in the act for me to see it through. It wasn't until afterward that I fully realized the pain outweighed the pleasure too much for me to love you that way again."

The sincerity in her eyes restored his composure a bit, but Harold continued to gaze searchingly at her. "Marian… why didn't you tell me?"

"Forgive me, darling," she said ruefully. "But I could never seem to find the right time. I was going to say something when I came back to bed, but you were so endearingly content and desirous for affection I couldn't bear to disappoint you. When you never asked me again, I didn't see the need to say anything, as such confessions would have hurt you needlessly. I suppose I could have nipped things in the bud when you started to make overtures a few weeks ago, but I wasn't entirely certain of your intentions until tonight. I was hoping I wouldn't have to tell you these things… "

Harold pulled her close as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. "But you need to tell me these things, my dear little librarian," he gently admonished. "As astute a man as I can be, I am not a mind reader. If you had told me, I would never have pressed you in the first place, and we'd both be a lot happier right now."

Marian nodded against him. "You're absolutely right – I should have told you," she concurred, her voice muffled. "But it was all so embarrassing… "

But Harold still wasn't done with her. Tightening his hold on her waist, he leaned back and pulled her down until she was lying on top of him, and they were once again face to face. "Marian… I know you hate to disappoint me, and I am touched that you love me so much. But do you really think I care so little for your feelings that I would disregard them in favor of my own pleasure? I only pressed you because I hadn't realized the full extent of your feelings about the matter. Now that I do know, that particular act of lovemaking has lost any allure it once held for me."

Now it was Marian's turn to regard him with a pensive expression. "You won't miss it at all, Harold?" she asked softly.

Cupping her cheek with his hand, Harold planted a kiss on her lips and shook his head. "How could I miss something that you find painful and unpleasant?" he replied, his voice just as soft as hers. "It was never about the act by itself, darling. It was about us being able to express our love for each other to the fullest. When you refused me tonight, the reason I couldn't let it go – " He paused, and tried to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. "The reason I couldn't let it go was because I thought I might be losing you again – "

Even if Harold could have continued, he didn't have to; Marian pressed several ardent kisses against his lips, his cheeks, his forehead, his hair. "Never," she promised. "I'm so sorry for giving you that impression – sometimes it still isn't easy for me to speak so frankly about such delicate matters. But I'll be honest with you in the future – I'll be as honest with you as when I despised you!"

Harold chuckled at her zeal. "Yes – your fiery, querulous nature is why I fell in love with you the first place," he teased, nibbling at her ear. "I knew you were a passionate little minx the moment I first accosted you – you were so cold and yet so heated in your refusal." His hand twitched the librarian's robe higher up her leg until he was caressing her bare thigh. "And then the next day in the gymnasium," he continued in his low, velvety voice, "when I had whipped the rest of the River City-ziens into a delighted frenzy, you regarded me with that delicious look of disdain again. It drove me absolutely wild – I wanted to sweep you into my arms and take you back to the hotel at once!"

When Marian laughed and sat up to give him a swat on the arm and a good-natured glare, he couldn't resist pointing out how charmingly pink her cheeks had become.

Her hands flew up to cover her face. "Oh, drat it all!" she exclaimed, exasperated. "Will I _ever_ learn not to blush?"

Harold's grin faded. "Please don't, darling," he said earnestly, pulling her hands down to his lips and bathing them in tender kisses. "In addition to your candor, your innocence is one of the things I love most about you. I never want you to become so jaded, especially when it comes to our lovemaking – "

Once again, Harold found himself rendered speechless as Marian bent over and captured his mouth in a kiss that was far from retiring. When they finally broke apart to look at each other, the librarian was no longer blushing. "Harold," she said in that wonderfully throaty voice of hers, "there _was_ something we did in Paris that I've been longing to try again – "

Harold grinned with sheer delight as she whispered her suggestion into his ear. That had been a happy night, indeed – most especially since it had been entirely her idea. When Marian put her mind to it, she was more than capable of matching him in the cleverness and creativity department! Even if he had been so inclined, Harold could not mourn the loss of one act when there was a veritable smorgasbord of delights for them to feast upon. "You're right, we haven't done _that_ for awhile," he said appreciatively. He raised an eyebrow at his wife. "Do we even have any honey in the house?"

Marian returned his arch look with a sly smile. "I think we might have some in the pantry – I'll go get it now." Her eyes twinkled. "If not, strawberry preserves will work just as well, and we have plenty of those!"

But when Marian stood up and straightened her robe, Harold was struck by a sudden, intense wave of desire, just as he had been the night they returned to their hotel room and he took her against the wall. Honey was nice, but the music professor was in the mood for something far sweeter than that right now. He needed to show Marian exactly how much he loved her, to do for her just as much as she had done for him, to coax her into long, unbroken moans of ecstasy alone. And honey wasn't the only thing he'd missed since Paris…

Getting up from their bed, Harold grabbed his wife by the waist before she could so much as take a step toward the door. "Harold!" she protested with a laugh as he turned her around to face him, "I'll never make it to the pantry, at this rate!"

"That's too far away right now," he said in a heated whisper, his hands slipping inside her dressing gown to caress her breasts while his lips pressed urgent kisses against her neck. "You can go later," he promised, backing her against the wall as he untied the sash of her robe. "After all, we do have all night… "

His words were lost in a groan as Marian undid his robe in return and guided him to his destination with confidence and ease. "Yes, we do," she agreed, her breath coming in panting gasps as they began to make love. And in those gasps, Harold heard nothing but the pleasure he craved to give her.


End file.
